


The Ink that Runs through the Night Terrors

by R_Quarion



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Boys In Love, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Healing, Injury Recovery, Kissing, M/M, Temporary Amnesia, aint boys more like lads, hidden love, lads in love, revival, thats a better tag, the imperfect human condition and all the complexities that come along with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22084561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Quarion/pseuds/R_Quarion
Summary: Harry tells Eggsy he thought of nothing before he was killed. That he would leave nothing behind. After his recovery and the loss of Merlin, Harry puts pieces together. Two unlikely survival stories, two sides of the same coin.Harry realises just how much Merlin means to him.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad & Merlin & Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Harry Hart | Galahad/Merlin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	The Ink that Runs through the Night Terrors

He tells Eggsy that on that day, staring down the barrel of Valentine’s gun, covered in sweat and blood, that he had thought of nothing. He told Eggsy that because it was true. That he, Harry Hart, was deemed a Kingsman and nothing more. The gun pointed at him had not changed that; he merely had thought of nothing. 

Or, that's what he had _thought_. Ironic, some would consider.

Harry couldn't remember the first while after he awoke. Insects with wings drawn over every inch of a small, lightly padded white room. But he wasn't Harry Hart then. He was a mere lepidopterist who couldn't remember anything, with one eye that didn't work and the other which could only seem to see butterfly wings. 

Then he was drowning. That fear awoke something in him. A flash of something, not life, before his eyes. He had felt that fear before, somewhere, somehow. But it drained from him, as quickly as the water drained from the room. Leaving smudges of ink dripping from the white padded walls that had been soaked in the tide. It was when the wings came to life, when the ink became insect, and a dog was being held at gunpoint, did he feel that same flash. This time; of life.

Then, he was Harry Hart again. Or, at least, fractions of.   
  
“Things might not come back all at once,” Ginger said, bending down and shining a light in Harry’s eyes. “And they might be a little muddled so don’t be shocked if you have a little difficulty for a while."   
Harry curled a hand through the puppy’s fur and nodded. The corner of his mouth twitching. Over Ginger’s shoulder, Merlin and Eggsy hovered. Eggsy looks over the moon, Merlin looks cautious. The puppy shoves his nose into Harry’s hand and Harry has a sudden flash of Merlin, holding the same hand between his.

Harry watches him turning his hand gently, pressing a kiss to Harry’s palm. He closes his eyes. Reaching out to what had to be a memory. It tore itself from Harry's grasp, soon it was lost among the chaos of the rest. Ginger patted him on the shoulder, he opened his eyes to her smiling. Now awoken with the memory stolen.   
“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Harry Hart,” she says. Harry does his best to smile.   
"Likewise.”  
It’s a while before Harry and Merlin get a moment alone. Ginger leaves, then Eggsy. Merlin sits on Harry’s bed surrounded by padded walls and painstakingly drawn butterfly wings. Ink running like blood from a cut. Ginger’s promised to move him out in the morning, it feels claustrophobic, smells like a sickroom.  
  
“It is rather inspired,” Merlin says, looking down at the puppy snoring between them. “When Ginger said trauma I thought – ”  
“Drowning me was the only solution?”  
Merlin winces. “Sorry about that.”  
Harry smiles, “It’s alright. I remember that you’re not really a dog person, makes sense Eggsy thought of that one.”  
Merlin doesn’t look at him, his eyes downcast. Harry wants to touch him, wants to put a hand on his knee, on his thigh, wants to pull him close. Merlin’s hand moves then and for a moment Harry thinks – but no, he reaches out to scratch the puppy behind the ear.  
“I dunno,” he says gruffly. “Some of them have grown on me. You’re turning me around to the idea.” That, without a doubt, makes Harry smile.  
  
Harry’s dreams are mostly bursts of colour, butterfly wings, waxy and thin, brushing against his hands, his arms, his cheeks. He dreams of Valentine’s gun, dreams of the church, of Eggsy, of Merlin. Things might be a _bit_ muddled, Ginger had said. Harry doesn’t know if these things he keeps thinking of with Merlin are dreams or fantasy or reality. But when he wakes, the butterflies still flit around his head. He shakes them off. The puppy is on his chest. It yawns and licks his nose.

When Harry asks about the lack of clarity, he hears what he didn’t want to.  
“Yes that’s normal,” Ginger says, distractedly. She’s checking Tequila’s vitals, noting something down on her clipboard, her fingers darting across the touchpad quick as Merlin’s. “Give yourself some time. You’ve been out a whole year.”   
Harry nods. Merlin keeps giving him these worried looks, his forehead creased, whenever he thinks Harry’s not looking. 

The first time Harry almost died on a mission he remembers Merlin, thirty years younger, face pale, jaw taut, waiting for the room to clear. For the doors to be locked before hugging him. He remembers Merlin shaking, remembers his fist clenching the fabric of Harry’s hospital gown, his face pressed into the space between Harry’s neck and shoulder. _I’m sorry,_ Harry had said, tilting his head towards Merlin’s to gently kiss his forehead. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry._  
  
Or maybe not. Maybe that was just a dream too.

If that were to be a dream, then, Harry couldn't help but wonder if the memory of him and Merlin sat by a fireplace talking until the sun rose and painted the sky in pastel watercolours was real or not. Or when they first wore their Kingsman suits, the way that Merlin had looked at him like no one else ever had. The reason Harry didn’t want to hear Ginger say the lack of clarity between real and fake was not because of the diagnosis itself but because, deep down, he hoped these ideas of him and Merlin are true. There are strange, sudden images. Harry struggles to make sense of many of them. Broad, bare shoulders. Pale skin exposed, being marked with bruising thumb prints and occasional teeth marks. Desperate gasps and murmurs of Harry’s name. There’s shadows over these memories but Harry can swear the whispers of his name is heavy in accent.   
  
“When I was shot... can you guess what the last thing was that flashed through my mind? It was absolutely nothing. I had no ties. No bittersweet memories. I was leaving nothing behind. Never experienced companionship... never been in love... and in that moment... all I felt was loneliness... and regret,” Harry lies without even meaning to. There was love in his life, it was taking a while to come back to him.   
  
He can see the sadness in Eggsy’s eyes at that truth. But there’s wonder in them. Wonder that tells Harry that Eggsy is thinking much further past such a lonesome statement. Merlin steps out a few moments later dressed like a Kingsman agent. He _is_ one, yes, but usually from the other side of a computer. Maybe it doesn’t matter whether what he and Merlin had was real or not, whether it ever happened. Seeing Merlin like that knocks the wind right out of Harry regardless.   
  
He takes a moment on the plane to follow Merlin out of the main seating area, where Merlin’s headed he has no idea but as soon as the door _snicks_ shut behind them Harry wraps his arms around Merlin from behind.   
“Harry,” Merlin says it like a sigh. Harry could remember holding Merlin like this before. A time when he reasonably hoped that he had misheard when Merlin said, _I can’t do this_. Not that it was outside of his comfort zone. But because they had a job to do. An agency to prove themselves to. Repressed feelings so similar in nature that it hurt Merlin more to say it then it hurt Harry to hear it. But the here and now is different.  
“I have to know,” Harry’s teeth become gritted.   
Merlin’s breathing is loud in the tightness of the plane’s corridor.   
“Know what?” he asks, voice soft, knowing _exactly_ what.  
In answer, Harry presses a kiss to the back of Merlin’s neck. Merlin exhales.   
“Harry,” he says again,   
“I missed you,” Harry says.   
Merlin laughs, almost. His hands slowly lifting to hold Harry’s where they are wrapped around his waist.   
“You spent a year drawing butterflies on the wall, Harry. You had no idea I existed.” But he turns his head to rest it against Harry’s anyway. “You were dead,” he says. “I watched you die.”

There are a lot of things Harry could say to that. Stupid things like _I’m sorry and it’ll never happen_ _again_ , _I swear_ and _I’m here now, I’m here,_ things that Merlin doesn’t want to hear because it’s their job, because this has happened before and will happen again.  
Merlin clears his throat, “we’ll be landing soon.”  
  
It seems pointless to have lied to Eggsy in the beauty of hindsight. Eggsy would blame himself for the landmine, whether Merlin lied about freezing it or not. Harry’s ears are ringing like they haven’t since his first few missions, the scent of gun powder and copper hanging heavy in the air.  
“Merlin,” Eggsy says to nothing, to no one, and Harry wants to tell him that it’s pointless. He’s seen the aftermath of enough landmines to know that Merlin won’t survive. But Harry is just thinking about the scrawny kid clutching a clipboard he met during his trials for Kingsman. The one with a thick Scottish accent and hair shorn close to his scalp. The one who broke a kid’s nose for sneering at him.

And when that landmine clicks and it begins to rain remnants of vines, Harry can’t help but shed a silent tear. It lands in the undergrowth, watering remains of plants that won’t live. Remains shredded and torn, Harry refuses to let himself look at where Merlin had been. But those last words echo the mountainside. Life is old there, older than the trees. Younger than the mountains, growing like a breeze. When Eggsy darts out of Poppy’s diner, Harry follows. They leave with a mission completed statement and a man down.  
  
The butterflies are back as they edge through the jungle. He finds Merlin first. His legs are mostly gone, his eyes are closed. The butterflies flit around Merlin’s head. Harry kneels down. His face is tilted sideways, his suit is a mess. But what kind of landmine doesn’t make a mess? And even more curiously, what kind of man survives such a mess?   
  
Harry reaches out presses his fingers against Merlin’s pulse point. There’s a weak thrum. The butterflies start to swarm.   
  
“Eggsy,” Harry says, his mouth his dry, his tongue heavy, his words come out slurred. “Eggsy, I need you to – ”   
“Shit!” Eggsy realises. “Shit, fuck, is he - ?” He bends down, Harry gestures. Eggsy reaches out, checks his pulse. His eyes go wide. “Ginger, Ginger, we need medical!”   
“He’s alive,” Eggsy says a moment later, rests a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “He’ll be alright, Harry. If they can fix a fucking bullet to the brain they can fix this mess. Maybe we can even fix Merlin up with some of those sick blades Valentine’s girl had.”

Harry smiles weakly. It’s the kind of smile that isn’t intentional. It lingers, despite that, and Harry tries his best to keep it there. He wonders if he’ll have to do what Merlin had to him. Bring back trauma, remind him of who he had been before the click of that mine. Harry wonders where he could start. A lifetime, they had nearly spent together. Yet there was nothing Harry could even consider doing. Not that there was a shortage of bad, but that he wasn’t willing to do it to Merlin.

It’s that thought that makes Harry realise he’s lied. His companion, his love, it had been with him the whole time.

The Statesman had done their best but, alas, Merlin’s legs could not be saved. It’s a week before Merlin opens his eyes. Harry opens his mouth, closes it. He doesn’t _need_ to say anything, he sees it all flicker through Merlin’s eyes. The confusion, the surprise, the fear, the acceptance. Harry’s holding his hand. They don’t say anything about that, either.   
Instead, Merlin licks his lips. “Sae, it went well then?” His voice is cracked and raw.   
“As well as can be expected after the brains of the operation got himself blown up.”   
Merlin’s smile is weak. Harry squeezes his hand. “I – ” he starts to say but Merlin cuts him off.   
“If you’re about tae apologise or say it’ll be alright or something, a will be forcit tae pull out yer other eye.”   
“Actually, I was going to say that since you got my house blown up we’ll be staying at yours while we rebuild.”   
“Oh,” Merlin says. That seems to be enough.   
  
Harry smiles. He slides his hand up Merlin’s arm, all the way up his shoulder to cup his cheek. He leans forwards and presses a kiss to Merlin’s forehead, lingers there a moment.   
“Harry,” Merlin says and it sounds like a sigh again but this time it sounds relieved. _Happy._   
“Merlin,” Harry says back, kisses him soundly. Merlin doesn’t push him away, doesn’t say anything about secrecy or propriety, just looks up at Harry, gaze soft and says, “a hope you’re not plannin’ on bringing that fucking mutt wi ya tae my house.”   
Harry laughs.   
“Actually, I’ve already sent Eggsy on ahead with him.”

Returning to Merlin’s had been long awaited at that point. Harry had swore that he was nothing but Merlin’s as he started to adjust. Kingsman was safe with Eggsy for the meantime. The priority was Merlin and his health. They work in silent unity for a lot of the time. Harry never getting impatient for a mere moment. The same couldn’t be said about Merlin and the dog. Merlin’s health skyrockets. It’s a simple question that makes it all freeze in time.

“Did you mean what you told Eggsy?” Merlin _looks_ worried. The tone is quivering along with it. Harry pulls the ignorant card and Merlin’s follow up weakens his knees, “what you said on the plane? Getting shot? Nothing bittersweet, no companionship, no…”   
“...love.” Harry finishes the sentence that Merlin is too nervous to say.

“I thought I meant that. I thought it was real.” Harry can’t look at Merlin’s gaze, raw with emotion.  
“ _Thought,_ aye?” He repeats the phrase.   
“Yeah. Thought. But… Merlin, what are we? What were we? Were we… intimate?”   
“Ahhh. You’ve remembered.” Merlin huffs a laugh, scratching the back of his neck, cheekbones alight with blush, “we were close in training. Too close. What started off as harmless fun turned quickly into, what would be used against us in blackmail.”

There was so much building up to Merlin’s explanation. Memories of initiation training, when Harry was quick enough on his feet to defuse an unexpected bomb, when Merlin was concise enough to unlock the prime of lock technology. All of the missions from there. The lives lost on the way, the wounds now turned scars.   
“I was wrong, Merlin. About love. And companionship. And regrets.” Chills run down him, “one of my biggest regrets, was that we never… were able to…”   
Harry feels like a child who had just learn what to say and what not to say. Because his heart is thudding with an urge to be honest but the reality of their jobs is repressing it. So when Merlin took a difficult step forward, cupping Harry’s face in his hands, he shudders. 

The kiss is answer within itself. The butterflies leave this one alone. This one was real.

It was real and meaningful. Forceful and needy, desperate in the form of hands grasping at clothes. When Ginger had said that part of Harry’s recovery would involve regression to a younger self, Merlin had expected Harry to have remembered their training. When they had first met, both young fellows, and the confusing relationship that had developed from there. Where their competitiveness became fuel for more private encounters. The feelings that grew from it had meant it had to stop. It was all fun and games until they both realised it was not a game. Strange to think after all that time; they still felt the same way.

Harry didn’t have a doubt in the world that he would think of Merlin if, God forbid, another barrel were to be placed between his eyes.   
His companion, his partner, his love. Merlin was the power that kept the butterflies from Harry's night terrors at bay.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been in my WIP doc for years. Starting 2020 out right; with Merlahad.


End file.
